Solipsism and Forgetting
by meaninglessmonotony
Summary: Thane's solipsism has become more of a curse than a blessing. When Shepard tries to help him, will she get sucked in? Bad summary. Femshep, Thane, Chakwas, Samara, EDI, Joker, more to come. Teen for language and eventual graphic violence.
1. Chapter 1

"Thane! Thane, snap out of it!" Shepard grabbed the drell by the shoulders, shaking him firmly.

He jerked, blinking sadly, "I…I am sorry, Shepard…I cannot control solipsism…Sometimes I wish…"

"I know, Thane, I'm sorry." She felt awful, having to witness him relive his most painful moments. Solipsism would keep the darkest memories, scenes best forgotten, as fresh and as vivid as if they were real-time events. Her friend had always been more prone to the distinctive drell trait than any she'd met in her travels and the frequency of his lapses into memory had increased exponentially after the completion of the suicide mission.

He corrected his deflated posture, proudly turning to regard the window to the AI core behind her. "I do not mean to be impolite, but perhaps it would be best if you left me for now."

"Of course," she got up from her seat across from him, unable to meet his eyes, "I'll see you later, Thane."

He nodded courteously but did not speak. She didn't blame him—he had just relived the discovery of his wife's body. And she had heard it all. She exited Life Support, a blush of shame burning across her cheeks.

She hated that he had been forced to recount every emotion, every minute movement and detail of the traumatic experience and she hated that she had witnessed his private anguish without invitation. What was worse was that the few positive memories he had were often linked to a wealth of painful ones. If there was any way she could spare her friend this constant…

Shepard stopped walking. What if…? She turned to the Observation Deck and gently roused Samara from her meditations. A quick conversation later, and she and the asari were headed for medbay and Dr. Chakwas.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shepard," Doctor Chakwas was reluctant to give her blessing, "You don't know that this will even work or what it could do."

"Doc, Samara says she could do it if he's willing but she needs an outlet."

The elderly doctor sighed wearily, "Shepard, why is it always _you_ that takes responsibility for these things?"

The other woman winked, a smile flashing against the amber lines of scarring that had never completely gone away. "Because I love the spotlight, Doc, you know that."

Chakwas made a disapproving clucking noise in the back of her throat, "Have you even consulted the drell on this matter?"

"Not yet," Shepard leaned on one of the medbay cots, face now serious, "I wanted to be sure that we could actually do it before getting his hopes up. Doc, he's suffering. I can see it."

"I know," Chakwas sat down in her chair, slim fingers rubbing her temples, "I see it too. A perfect memory can sound like a blessing, but for one whose life has been so turbulent, it would be a curse."

"So let us help him." The Commander's eyes were bright with the fire that had inspired so many to follow her into hell. To her credit, she had led them back out alive. Chakwas could feel her misgivings crumble in the face of the other woman's confidence.

"Very well," she sighed, "But keep in mind, this would be a very delicate…operation. As far as I know, it has never been attempted."

"There have been no previous records of a similar attempt." EDI's hologram flickered out of her medbay interface node. Her simulated voice had a definite note of curiosity.

Samara nodded from her position by the doors, arms comfortably folded, "I have never heard of such a venture. However, I am confident in my own abilities as well in the worthiness of this cause. Thane Krios has had a life of pain and loss. His existence is defined by it. To remove the source of his pain would effectively remove the part of him which kills without conscience. If he were allowed to continue in this state, I would likely have been compelled by my Code to kill him and end the threat he posed to innocent life."

Shepard gave Chakwas a significant look. The doctor inclined her head slightly. The majority of Shepard's motley crew had likely violated Samara's Code at least once, in some cases several times. If Samara was willing to pursue a nonviolent course in bringing the assassin to justice, perhaps she would be flexible (for a Justicar) when dealing with the others.

"If I may," Samara's crystal blue eyes were closed—she had not seen the silent exchange between the human women, "I believe that during the course of the procedure, some of his memories may flow into us, and possibly transfer to you. Are you willing to bear his burden, Shepard?"

The Spectre nodded, her dark eyes resolute. "Humans don't experience solipsism…I'd only have to feel it once. It'd be worth it to help him heal emotionally."

"You are a remarkable individual, Shepard," the asari's smile was sad, "I am honored to work with you."

Shepard looked down, somewhat embarrassed by the Justicar's praise. "He's part of my crew. I can't let them suffer if I can help it."

Chakwas smiled proudly at the woman who she'd come to view as her daughter.

Samara nodded regally and pushed decisively away from the wall. "I am ready. Shall we inform him now?"

The Commander smiled in affirmation and the two turned to leave.

"Just in case anything unexpected happens, let's conduct this mad experiment in the medbay, Shepard!" Chakwas called out the door after them.

Kylae Shepard waved at her as she left.


	3. Chapter 3

Shepard hadn't been sure whether he'd agree at first. The drell's face was always hard to read—smooth olive skin didn't crease or flinch with the exaggerated emotions of the other races and his depthless black eyes were unreadable—and his posture had been stiff and defensive. As she and Samara explained the objective, however, he seemed to relax and grow, if anything, hopeful.

"The only problem is that we're not sure how effective or accurate the procedure would be," Shepard glanced to the asari for confirmation, got it, then looked to Thane for approval.

"You are proposing to isolate the…negative memories and remove them?" His tone was hesitant.

"I believe the term 'cauterize' would be more appropriate," Samara gazed intently into his face, "If I truly attempted to remove whole memories, there is little doubt that the effect would induce madness. What I will try to do is to soften or blur the potency of the memories themselves—hopefully 'deactivating' solipsism in regards to those traumatic experiences. You will, in all likelihood, remember them, but you will not recall in perfect detail and you will not lose yourself in the memory."

"If you don't want to try this, I completely understand," Shepard gave him an understanding smile, "But if—"

"Thank you, Shepard, Samara," Thane stood, straightening his elegant black jacket, "I…I want to explore this possibility."

The Commander sat back, felt an initial wave of relief quickly overcome by apprehension. What if she was wrong? She pushed the notion from her mind.

"Doctor Chakwas would prefer us to try it in the medbay." She stood. "Are you ready to do it now?"

Thane nodded in his thoughtful manner and all three left Life Support.

"I do not think it will work, Shepard, but you have my gratitude for the attempt." His gravelly voice was soft in her ear as they walked back to medbay.

"If you don't think it'll be successful, why are you doing this?" Shepard cocked her head in confusion. It was no light matter to let one's mind be tampered with.

"Because I am tired of seeing these things, Shepard. I cannot be reminded of pain and death and sadness in the past when we face so much in the future. If there is any chance that this could work, I cannot let it slip past because of fear or doubt." The drell blinked slowly, painfully, then gave her a slight smile. "Whatever the result, thank you."

"We will help you, Thane," Shepard stated stubbornly, following Samara into Chakwas's domain. "I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

Samara stood before Thane and Shepard, utterly at ease in her red armor. The fluorescent medbay overhead lights made her blue skin glow softly and her crystal blue eyes seemed to pierce Shepard's soul. She shivered, remembering that Samara was over a thousand years old. What else had those clear eyes seen?

"Prepare yourselves," the asari murmured, her deep voice calm and sweet.

Chakwas stood to the side, ready to rush in should the need arise.

Thane bowed his head, "I am ready."

Shepard took in a deep breath and nodded.

Samara raised her hands; her slender fingers grazed Shepard's temple and Thane's forehead. She ducked her head and her eyes rolled back, blackness gathering in them.

Her head snapped up. "Embrace eternity!" She cried. The pain in her voice was palpable, and in an instant Shepard could feel her fear, her consuming sorrow that echoed in her very marrow, her guilt, and her resolve. The Justicar was a clear glass vessel—once beautiful and flawless, now held against a dark light, fractured but holding together. She was drawn in, flashing through emotion, brief glimpses of memory—unaware of the hot tears coursing down her cheeks.

Another wave of intensity and she was battered by an overload of sensory detail, perfect, so perfect and terrible. _Thane_. Pain, anger, love, hate, confusion, grief, guilt, amusement, incongruous juxtapositions of clashing emotions, sensations, and images. Shepard felt sanity rip.

Soft grasses tickled her calves, glowing coals burned her feet, cool breezes buffeted her back, a bullet shattered her kneecap, a desperate kiss sweet and insistent on her lips. All around her, the rumble of the drell's voice, echoing hanar speech, a pulsing luminescence of their phosphorescent communication. She was falling, she was fighting hand-to-hand, she was peering through a sniper scope. Days flashed by in instants, years in seconds. She started screaming and didn't stop.


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard had collapsed on the medbay floor, body convulsing, eyes rolling up. Samara released her mental hold, staggering backward in exhaustion. Thane took one step back, opened his mouth to speak, and fell back onto the cot Chakwas had prepared, his slender form limp.

"Commander!" Chakwas had rushed to Shepard's side as soon as she'd started screaming, trying in vain to pull her up onto a pallet. She grabbed at the other woman's arms, trying now to keep her from hurting herself.

"Samara, help me!" The gray-haired doctor snapped, pushing her emotions aside. She needed to restrain the Commander, to keep her from hurting herself, and the Cerberus 'upgrades' made the woman too strong to handle on her own. The asari nodded wearily, her eyes tragic and dark. Blue biotic fires ignited about her form and Shepard was lifted into the air, limbs spread wide.

Red hair swirled eerily, as if she were suspended underwater, and her eyes were wide with only the whites showing. Her familiar face, so accustomed to smiling, was distorted with pain and terror.

God, what is she seeing? Chakwas wondered in horror. "What in heaven's name happened?"

"I…I do not know." The justicar stared up at Shepard, Chakwas was surprised to see a muted fear on Samara's usually placid face, "During the attempt, I acted as a sort of conduit—I felt flashes of both their consciousness, not just Thane's as I had expected. It was all so quick…"

Shepard's body shuddered and she went limp, head lolling forward. Unconscious. Chakwas motioned Samara to set her down on one of the medbay beds and went to her cabinets to scrounge for restraining belts. She secured the younger woman's feet, hands, and put bands across her shoulders and thighs to be safe, clinical procedure keeping her mind focused. She checked mechanically for physical injury, pushing away her personal concern for the capable and vivid person who she had come to view as a daughter. Nothing.

Job done, she turned to tend to the drell, but he had recovered already, a slender hand clasped to his smooth forehead, bottomless eyes blinking slowly, sadly.

"I…apologize for any discomfort you may have endured," Samara spoke haltingly, one hand steadying his shoulder, the other awkwardly aloft level with her hip. She seemed to want to offer a more comforting gesture, but could not quite find the necessary movement. "It did not go as…I had expected."

Chakwas rushed briskly to Krios's side, but he waved her off, straightening with growing confidence. "I am…quite well, doctor." He coughed and Chakwas kept her face carefully neutral. She didn't know much about the drell, about their disease, but she knew that the wet rattle was indicative of anything but wellness. He looked up, met her gaze and gave a small smile. "All things considered that is."

He turned to the asari at his side, giving her a polite bow. "You did the best you could, I felt little discomfort—I cannot tell if the experiment worked, but it helped to at least attempt the venture. Shepard—" He saw the prone figure on the medbay bed, and his shoulders sagged, "Oh no. Is she-?"

Chakwas looked at the blank face of the woman who had inspired so many, "She's alive." Her eyes had closed, but were moving rapidly beneath the pale lids. What does she see?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Sorry this took so long. There was more I wanted to do with this but I'm not quite sure how to go about it. Review with suggestions or advice? This is NOT the end!**

Kylae Shepard hurtled through memories that were not her own, down dark corridors and through twisted passages. When it started, she had been going back, back at a speed that rivaled FTL travel, through the years of Thane Krios's life until she stopped with a silent screech.

She started forward at the beginning.

The assassin had said drell do not remember their birth, but Shepard saw his first steps, felt his first word drop hesitantly from his lips. She felt his love for his parents—simple, innocent emotion of a child. She saw the first time he killed, twelve years old, the moment of muted horror, remorse, disgust, fear, swept away by praise and comfort of his hanar teachers and drell compatriots.

Forward. Training with weapons, toning muscle and mind until they became seamless—his body was an extension of his thoughts and his emotions were buried within his very core.

Forward. His first assignment. Perfect, clean kill. But he wondered why. Why did this man—the mark, he corrected himself, stifling curiosity. The mark was terminated at the bequest of the employer. He was doing a job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Forward. A holiday in an arid country—red sand blew in the dry breeze, rosy orange monoliths of ancient stone stood solemnly, offering the only shade for miles. Black eyes regarded a white sun, blinked in the searing beauty. His uncle had come to live the last months of his life here. Thane had thought it did not seem so bad a place to die.

Forward. The first time he'd gotten sloppy. His mark pleaded, disturbing tears sliding down pale cheeks. Horror at his own amateurish mistake, then disgust and guilt at the other man's reaction, then a creeping pity…he was offered money and that affront freed his hands. Krios took no joy in the killing, he never did, but for the man to assume he was a simple mercenary—to be swayed by material wealth…He looked at the blood pooling on the cool wood-paneled floor. Dark grain, honey oak, wide planks. Maybe…

Forward. Laser dot dances on the mark, sunset eyes in the scope. Kylae felt the moment she'd heard him relive so many times. A beautiful drell female, righteously defiant. The first mark he'd failed to deliver. The first time he'd considered his actions as…condemnable. Irikah. A civilian. Curiosity turned into obsession.

Forward. Talking, laughing, _feeling._ No practical purpose—Irikah was passionate, idealistic…she was like no one he'd ever known. She opened his eyes, his heart.

Forward. Asking the hanar for an end to the Compact, joy and gratitude filling his being at their gentle acquiescence. Irikah had agreed to marry him. They could start a family.

Forward. Irikah's sunset eyes glowing fiercely, her sweet lips curled upward just so in her most intimate smile, her smooth body intertwined with his, two becoming one, his world was whole.

Forward. Her slender fingers slid softly over his gills, her soft voice in his ears. "Thane. I'm pregnant." A golden burst of pride, anticipation, tremulous joy. They cried, made love, and cried again.

Forward. A hospital room, white walls, bright lights. Irikah lay in labor, pain in her deep eyes, but a jubilant smile on her lips. Fear, static expectation, buzzed at his throat as she convulsed, small cries punctuating the contractions. A rip, a sharp scream, a bright rush of blood—a boy. The infant drell was cleaned and handed to Thane.

He was so warm, so new. Small pools of black, sleek, shiny teal skin. He was beautiful.

Thane turned to his wife, panting softly on her hospital cot, her smooth skin wan with exhaustion. He knelt at her side, held the child, their child, up for her to see. He could not speak.

"He's perfect," she whispered, tracing the infant's cheek with a trembling finger.

"What shall we call him?" His voice was hoarse, gaze flicking from his soulmate to his only child.

"Kolyat. His name is Kolyat."

Forward. Years of paying for his family in the only way he knew how. Out of respect for Irikah, he only accepted contracts which were honorable. He felt reasonable comfortable in the knowledge that these targets had done evil things and could possibly do evil things in the future, if not stopped. Still, he kept his family in the dark about the source of their income.

Forward. No. No. She lay on the floor, smooth limbs twisted, perfect skin flayed, sunset eyes blank. No. He'd been trained to deal death, to recognize it huddled in the shadows of a room, to hear its padded feet stamp out one's heartbeat. He did not need to check for a pulse. Irikah.

He'd been careful, he'd been quiet, he'd been a shade, an expert assassin. Still, somewhere, somehow, he'd slipped up. And now his love, his only, his bond-mate, his siha, was dead.

He had been responsible. He shook with rage, let loose his fetters of dignity, of training, and knelt by his dead wife, crying hopelessly. Solipsism made him remember the first time he'd met her, the first time they'd kissed, the first time—his knee came down on something harder than the soft flooring of his home. An OSD.

They had left a note. A warning. They had left names. Thane stood, hate burning in his heart, burning away his soul. He left his home, started his crusade.

Forward. Regret. Despair. He had become something…less. Were Irikah alive, she would be disgusted with, no, abhorred by him. He looked up to a deep blue sky, the subtle perfection reminding him of the lore of his ancestors, an ancient religion he had never given much thought to.

Forward. One last job, the final one. He looked across the large room, ignoring the advancing guards, to a huddle of scared salarians. Irikah's voice, sweet and solemn, lectured him on the importance of preserving life. He bowed his head, steeling himself for whatever injury he would sustain in their defense. For you, siha.

Later, the trembling workers secure in a side bunker and the first wave of guards and mercs efficiently dealt with, he stood silently, praying for those he had killed and those he would kill, and himself. The ventilation shaft would prove least confrontational.

Cool, damp air flooded the narrow passage; Thane paused, reliving his diagnosis. Slight sounds echoed from further down the passage—gunfire, yells, explosions. Krios cocked his head, blinked. Someone else was here. For Nassana? He moved faster. He had to be first.

Forward. Thane sat in Life Support, thinking about the new turn his life had taken. A suicide mission. Running toward death. At least it would be on his own terms, not a slow, inevitable decay in the hands of a disease. Soft light glowed from slick metallic surfaces; the table was smooth beneath his fingers. He straightened, blinked. An honorable fate. Perhaps more so than he deserved.

Forward. Thane gazed out the viewport as they left the Omega 4 relay, the destruction of the Collector base fragmenting silently in a crimson sunburst behind them. He had survived. Shepard had taken them through impossible odds. He had survived impossible odds. Who's to say it couldn't happen again?

Forward. Thane did not close his eyes as the Justicar reached for him. Perhaps a part of him expected her to simply kill him. Surely he was not worthy of her Code, as much as its austere nature appealed to him. No—her head snapped back, lips formed an ancient cry, and he felt himself being pulled into her.

Shepard felt his memories, his thoughts, his emotions drain away, felt her own identity returning. The sheer sensory overload had nearly driven her mad—maybe it should have. She gasped as reality hit her, sanity tearing cruelly at her consciousness. She was Shepard again, she was human, she was—blackness swallowed her.


End file.
